Just Do It
by Impar
Summary: Love, Hate, Pain, Healing, Sharp, Soft, Change, Stay, Heart, Loss, Heat, Cold, Quiet, Loud, Frown, Laughter. Stop. This is how he is. This is how he thinks. This is his new brand of fashion. The birth of the Joker.
1. The Soles that Dirtied His Shoes

Just Do It.

Jack shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to clean the gum from the sole of his shoe. His shoe, riddled with the scum of Gotham's streets. Dirtied with the _crying, miserable _souls, that shed their dirt like the year sheds seasons. Winter was probably the worst time to get crap all over your shoes, from the slush, to the way the cold seemed to seep through the brown leather of his shoes. Sometimes, in winter, he would come home to find much of his pant suits-filthy up-to-the-knee. What irritated Jack the most was the even when he was_ mindful_ of the filth, even when he tried to _avoid_ getting dirty. He. Still. Got. Dirty.

Jack laughed through clenched teeth, it was a strange habit he had, when he was angry or fearful-he smiled through gritted teeth. He didn't know why he smiled or laughed at the strangest of times but he could reason with that he saw the irony to the life he lived.

Unfortunately the bloke down at the factory hadn't taken to kindly when he smiled out of sorrow for his recently-deceased-wife. The guy didn't even appreciate when Jack tried to cheer him up with a Joke or two. Instead of receiving thank you or a laugh-he got broken nose and several bruise to match.

But Jack had gotten his nose broken before, many times in fact. It was long crooked, bit appealing and when he looked down at people seriously-it usually gave an intimidating feeling. It was as if his nose described Jack completely, he laughed to himself as a lonesome car rolled past. Where was the freaking bus? His ass was freezing out here. His nose was crooked and bent, like Jack's life had been, and Jack had always sniffed out trouble. Hell, Jack was a magnet to it.

His rapidly fading bruises were enough proof of that. He bounced on the balls of his feet, humming merrily to himself. Work had been hard today, if he was sensible as the other men he would have gone out for a drink. But no, Jack didn't want to drink, he was just…never interested much. Sure he accepted alcohol every now and then but he didn't like the dim, numb feeling that came with it. Jack liked emotions, swirly, dizzy, emotions. Much of his thoughts came from his opinions, his emotions-but didn't everybody's? God, now he was thinking about emotions like some crack-headed freak-or worse-a teenage girl. He laughed loudly, people who passed by him glanced but shied away, they had seen weirdo's like him before. Defiantly the crack-head, he decided, perhaps Jack was accidently a drug user-maybe, he just didn't remember. Jack peeled over in laughter again at that, oh god, the willies were getting to him. Finally he straightened up, and looked at the casual passerby's that waltzed past him. He couldn't put his finger upon it, but there was something wrong with them, something horribly, disgustingly_ wrong_. They were all so _boring_, exactly the _same_. There were lawyers, and doctors, and managers, and employees, and the-McDonald-flip-burgers. But still, something was wrong; each and every one of the men and women that passed him had achieved, or had been working _to_ achieve their dreams. But why was it-that none of them were smiling?

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Hey guys-pretty short eh? I may or may not continue, Why?- Well im not sure how this will get chewed up so please digest it and give it a review? By-the-way It's zero-calories! In fact- it's calorie burningjust from you sitting and reading thisJ


	2. A Tear, A Smile

Jack. Jack. Jack. Com'on Jack.

It was the same goddamn thing they said every time. Jeez wheeze-zum, couldn't they give it a gosh-darn-toe-bit- it break? He didn't need to hear the yaps of the men or the giggling hyena girls in the corner. Never again would he come sit with his _lovely_ fellow workers watching then get home and pay whores off to keep it a secret from their wives. Jack took a swung of alcohol with a grimace, it was just an enforcement to remember WHY he HATED to drink. Nasty stuff. How could people like this stuff? Maybe Jack would settle for something dry like a merlot, but then again, the dry dark red wine matched his humor.

If people were happier then they wouldn't feel the need to drink. They wouldn't feel a need to whole themselves up from the world in their drunken stupor.

Don't even get Jack _started_ on drugs.

Stop. Jack chuckled to himself, again. His mind was taking a dive off the deep end. A woman clad in fishnets, lacey booty shorts and a low-cut reveling top approached him. Jack marveled about how women could do this to themselves, at least she's not a slut. Sluts were worse, they did _it_ for free! Whores? Well, to be honest if they had a child or something he could understand, the wicked have toi have some sort of living too. The world revolves around a little rectangular piece of green paper. The woman had walked straight up to Jack, perching on his legs and batting her long eyelashes. Jack thought she would have been much prettier without the lashes, or the thick make-up splashed over her face.

A deep longing grew inside Jack. Past her purrs, and desperate cries for attention-Jack saw some girl who realized she _didn't have a future. _He saw a miserable girl who was clinging to life by her old chipped, polished nails.

Jack felt sorry.

And Jack gave in.

The rest of the night past rather eventfully, the two of them sat at the bar, Jack still swishing his first glass of scotch, and she drinking a little bit of beer Jack bought for her. Jack was shocked to see that this woman didn't have a family, but she never had dreamed of being "in the business" She had been a young girl with dreams of going to college and becoming a nurse. She couldn't afford it, and because she had tried-but admittedly failed to get a scholarship she was left with the debt her dead father gave to her.

Jack felt sick.

Gotham had robbed its own people of a future, screwed every person over. This girl didn't deserve this life. Hardly anyone ever did. But yet they got what they did. Was that why no one ever smiled? The people who got their dream jobs, shouldn't they be happy? Why aren't they smiling when they leave work or go too? Shouldn't they be eager? Not in Gotham. No in Gotham everyone lived in their own personal bubble of hell.

As for the rest of 'em? Life just screwed her over, as did for the rest of them. Gotham was like the ballerina in a back of a show. Hardly anyone saw of her, she was slow, broken and bleeding. Yet she had herself nicely wrapped up in the stupid little tutu and a plastered smile upon her face. Jack fingered the last sip of alcohol he had, when they had started-everyone-every kid. They had all dreamed, the adults had told them-_promised_ them that they could be anything. DO anything.

They forgot to look and point and say-oh here, look-Here's your competition.

Life had just screwed them over, like a sick joke.

The two of them, Jack being the king of lonesome laughter and a little pretty-eyed whore just talked their way through the night. It-didn't seem like it-the woman DID need money. So when the bar shut down the woman panicked, but Jack, out of the goodness of his heart paid as much as he could. Though they hadn't done anything-she still needed to survive.

The glass on the bus to his home, Jack pulled out a sandwich he had failed to recall during his lunch hour(which he had spent pouring over paperwork) He pulled out a tuna-with-grapes-and-lettuce sandwich and chewed thoughtfully as something in the window caught his eye. light sprinkles of dew misted the pane, and for once, Jack was silent- as he which a single droplet start to form on the glass. He observed it start to form like a tear, and slowly role down the glass. Sandwich forgotten and without any thought to what he was doing over the tear, Jack drew a smile.

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So guys!:) I've grown a new obsession with Chesire cats and my little pony-Nizbucket say what- _say what_? You didn't hear that last bit. But what did you just call me?(Joking.) But because I'm totally awesome I'm going to tell you guys ho much I LOVE my school's homecoming week theme.

Yes it's Superhero VS Villian week.

Yes my Year had Batman.

Yes I've nominated as the Joker

Yes I'm DRESSING UP AS HIM OMGOMGOMGX)X)X)X) GAH HE"S SO AMAZING HOW CAN I EVER DREAM OF TRYING TO IMPERSONATE HIM?! I'M GOING TO FAIL SO FREAKING BADLKNSDFNVOVN HELP ME!

Thank you, thank you- hold your cats calls,claps, and cheers! you can report how much you love me and the joker over there to the men in white standing graciously in the corner. They won't hurt you-promise. In fact they'll help! You'll get a free vacation-paid by the taxpayers of course silly!

So while I blather please review and be a darl-harl. I promise that eventually this story won't be so depressed-but-full of smilesJ

Have a fantastic day! I encourage you to Read Review and don't borrow

-J


	3. Drink Clown

…3

_Drink _Clown Brand-beverages are an actual drink from Rock Hill, I stake absolutely NO claims on the brand other then it's pretty good. ..you'll see soon how this all adds up.

….

For Jack it was an obsession.

It was literally called _Drink _Clown, a nice little soda pop bottle he couldn't resist after he had tasted it. It had a little cartoon of a smiling blue-printed happy clown on the top rim of it.

It would be the death of him.

Ever since they put that god damn vending machine in the lobby of his apartment, Jack had been hooked. He cursed the landlord for hoping to pick up a few more dough so he could buy more booze at night. He cursed the company for using that brand. He cursed the guys who rolled the thing in and filled it with that demon drink. Jack had only passed the new machine the first time, all red and spiffy an' new covering up a plain, cracked gray wall with had a brown dirty streak Jack was pretty sure was blood. So Jack, tired after a long day of work, pulls out a dollar for a bottle of water, when the happy little clown caught his eyes.

Well, Jack never made plans so he bought it and carried the blue glass bottle up to his room in his fist.

It was only in his apartment that he unanswered the lid and drank the fizzy thing; it wasn't like other soda- it had a tangy taste. A bittersweet sugar that just jolted Jack into the past. The past where he had tried to please his parents so many times and wound up in his room nursing his e=injuries, the times when his girlfriend wound up dead in a car accident, the time when all the kids at school beat him to shit and peed on him empty form afterwards, the sweetness was cruel to him. Crippling him, drowning him in his memories. It made him think of the first time he had killed a man.

It reminded him of snaking his hands around the bastard's thick, beefy throat, the life fluttering-like a tiny aftermath of a fire being smoked out.

Jack would soon see the world was on fire, and Jack was just the gunpowder.

Well, fuck. He bought the whole damn rack of soda pop after the first bottle. He was hooked. Jack had become nuts over it, it was as if the bitter tang became a sweet relief to Jack. He vaguely wondered if the manufacturer spiked the drink with coke or drugs to get Jack so hooked but no, he double checked, there wasn't. Just loads of sugar that made his mind buzz.

Jack scuffed his shoes on the carpet of his apartment; the shaggy place was in ruin. In fact, one of the walls of the room was so cracked, that at the right angle-and if you pressed your eye to the crack, you could see a glimpse of the room next door. Jack had joshed himself by pulling out popcorn and eating it while peeping in on his neighbors having a full out World War 3 on one another. It was funny, he thought, to watch everyone in their own little worlds, hardly disrupted-At  
least he didn't have a bad obsession. His obsession at least would only give him-maybe some stained teeth but Jack didn't really care. People could shove it anyway-and besides-no little whore would try to kiss Jack after that anyway. Or maybe they would.

At least Jack didn't have to have sex to feel alive. He didn't have to have "love" to feel and decide for him, he didn't "need" someone to be there for him. JackJack was JackJack.

He could have been a guy with a wife some kids-no, hell, he could have _three _wives an _no_ kids if he'd wanna. He could have spent every day awaiting for the next paycheck, and living his life out like running on a hammer wheel over and over and over until he just keeled over.

But Jack didn't want to be that.

Jack didn't want to have that happy-homey feeling. He knew he just wouldn't be happy, that Jack just wouldn't be able to _smile._ He didn't want an obsession with alcohol, drinking till oblivion and living life in a personal protected bubble. He didn't want a child or a wife because he knew being with another person would make his life hell. Why should he have to share space with a droid that hardly smiled? If any slim chance, the only people Jack could tolerate were the ones who could keep up with him. He, most of all, was not set on a green little piece of paper that made the world go round.

No.

Jack was Jack.

Jack was obsessed with a little pop drink with a smiling clown.

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so Reviews please? Needs 3 reveiws total to go on:)

Love you all


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